STACK 
ANNEX 


5 

053 
428 


IN 

GOSSAMER 
GREY 


C 


OSCAR 
WILLIAMS 


/  o 


In  Gossamer  Grey 


By 
Oscar  Williams 


CHICAGO 
THE  BOOKFE1  LOWS 

1921 


Seven  hundred  fifty  copies  of  this  bookly  brochure  have  been 
printed  in  the  month  of  August,  1921,  by  Luther  A.  Brevier, 
BOOKFELLOW  No.  if.  The  author,  Oscar  Williams,  is  BOOKFEL- 
LOW  No.  652. 

For  pemission  to  reprint  <we  are  indebted  to  Everybody's, 
Contemporary  Verse,  London  Chapbooh,  the  New  York  Evening 
Post,  and  the  Pictorial  Review. 


Copyright,  1921,  by 
Flora  Warren  Seymowr 


IN  GOSSAMER  GREY 


2056561 


To 

Out  of  the  sea  of  dreams  have  you  risen, 
And  your  hair  is  dripping  with  stars ! 


DUSK  IN  A  CITY 

The  sifting  shadows  lift  and  fall 
Among  the  lamp-posts'  yellow  gleams ; 

The  frail  wind  wafts  the  twilight  down  — 
The  gossamer  grey  dust  of  dreams. 

Against  my  pane  the  shadows  whirl, 

While,  strange  and  huge,  a  hush  drifts  by, 

And  leaves  a  vastness  in  my  room, 
A  crying  urge  to  wind  and  sky. 

And  I  must  dream  of  how  the  dusk 
Beyond  the  walls  around  my  walls, 

Must  curl  a  flower  to  send  the  moon 
Cascading  down  far  waterfalls. 

And  I  must  dream  of  how  the  wind, 
Beyond  the  bars  around  my  bars, 

Awakens  elfin  melodies 

Upon  the  silver  strings  of  stars ! 


SECRET 

The  silver  black-browed  midnight  in  my  room 

Frowned  at  the  wind,  and  forward  leaned  to  hear; 

A  ghost  of  silence  fled  a  shadow's  doom 
And  whispered  secret  wonder  in  my  ear. 

Fear  not,  O  you  who  brought  all  this  to  pass, 

I  shall  not  tell  the  mystery  I  know, 
Though  spring  should  plead,  and  I  were  flowers  and  grass ; 

Though  white-toothed  frost  demand,  and  I  were  snow. 

Fear  not,  I  shall  not  tell ;  O  you  can  trust ; 

Though  earth  should  shake  beneath  the  tread  of  wars, 
I  shall  be  like  that  pebble  in  the  dust 

That  dumbly  clasps  the  secret  of  the  stars ! 


There  are 

But  three  deep  deaths: 

The  sleep  that  follows  sin, 

The  sleep  that  follows  the  wakening, 

And  sleep.     .     . 


SHADOWS 

What  though  in  silver  drapery 
The  night  is  proud  on  sea  and  hill 

When  little  wind-haired  shadows  fear 
To  cross  a  lighted  window  sill ! 

What  though  life  wears  its  high  romance 
Of  shimmering  silver,  twinkling  foam, 

When  wistful  shadows  cry  upon 
The  edge  of  cheerfulness  and  home ! 


It  may  be  the  stars  have  been  dead 
For  more  than  a  million  years 
And  what  we  see 
Is  their  light  traveling  through  space. 

It  may  be  my  dreams  have  been  dead 

For  centuries 

And  what  I  feel 

Is  their  light  traveling  through  song. 


LATE  O'  NIGHTS 

Once  when  I  wrote  poems 

Late  into  the  night 

And  used  the  gas  my  father  paid  bills  for 

(Which  he  strongly  resented), 

I  was  always  in  terror 

Of  the  thud  —  thud  —  thud  — 

Of  his  bare  feet  in  the  hallway. 

I  remember  that  when  he  caught  me 
He  raised  a  howling  uproar, 
And  woke  the  terrified  household, 
And  cursed  me  roundly, 
And  turned  out  the  light, 
And  my  head  ached  and  screamed 
Till  I  buried  it  in  the  cool  asylum 
Of  the  pillowy  bed. 

Now  I  pay  my  own  gas-bills, 

But  still  late  in  the  night 

When  my  thoughts  surge  in  delirium, 

Suddenly  a  hush  drifts  into  my  brain 

From  the  bourne  of  silence, 

And  down  the  stones  of  the  hallway 

I  hear  coming  towards  me 

The  thud  —  thud  —  thud  — 

Of  Something  with  bare  feet.  .  . 


EYES 

Sometimes  I  hold  a  glass  before  my  face 
And,  gazing  into  my  own  life-filled  eyes, 
I  think  of  the  passion  that  behind  them  lies, 

The  centuries  of  pride  and  creed  and  race, 

The  myriads  of  memories  under  sway  — 

The  dawns  and  sunsets  jostling  there,  the  sea 
Foam-fringed,  bent  flowers  listening  for  a  bee, 

Even  the  lips  of  love  I  kissed  only  to-day. 

All  this  and  more  .  .  .  but  suddenly  I  know 
My  brain,  that  holds  these  memories  all  in  pawn, 
Is  rummaging  in  darkness  once  again, 
And  I  must  see  my  eyes  as  other  men 
Have  always  seen,  and  still  will  see  them,  so  — 
As  windows,  strange  and  closed,  with  curtains  drawn. 


A  SLIGHT  REMARK 

Of  the  dead 

We  say,  "The  late  so-and-so, 

The  late  thus-and-thus," 

They 

Who  are  so  much  earlier 

Than  we! 


I  THOUGHT  TO  HIDE  MY  HEART 

I  thought  to  hide  my  aching  heart,  — 
To  wall  it  in,  the  whole  night  long, 

With  dance  of  feet,  with  colored  lights, 
With  laughter  and  with  song. 

I  thought  to  hide  my  bitter  heart,  — 
To  wall  it  in,  for  just  one  night, 

But  Oh,  what  have  I  done  ?  —  My  heart 
Looks  out  of  every  light. 

My  heart  cries  out  in  every  song,  — 
Oh,  what  is  this  that  I  have  done  ? 

I  have  a  thousand  breaking  hearts, 
Who  had  but  only  one! 


The  window's  rectangle  of  gold 

Spreads  a  wide  trap  of  light 

Over  the  snow, 

But  the  eyes  of  the  night 

Are  dark  with  suspicion 

And  she  keeps  wisely 

Aloof. 


10 


ALL  THE  WHILE 

Many  have  been  within  my  dwelling-place, 
And  I  have  merry-made  in  sun  and  rain, 

But  all  the  while  I  saw  like  a  strange  face, 
Loneliness  prowling  round  my  window  pane. 

I  have  laughed  loudly,  sung,  spoken  with  guile, 
And  danced  and  rioted  and  longed  for  more, 

But  underneath,  insistent  all  the  while, 
I  heard  the  silence  knocking  on  my  door. 


ROOFS 

Dream,  Oh  men,  to  reach  the  sky, 
Build  your  roofs  and  build  them  high; 
From  the  earth  where  soft  grass  drowses 
Take  the  rock  to  build  your  houses; 
From  the  plains  where  beauty  roams 
Take  the  shadows  for  your  homes; 
Build  and  dream  to  reach  the  sky,  — 
Dreams  are  dear,  but  truth  is  dearer,  — 
If  your  roofs  were  not  so  high, 
Oh,  your  blue  sky  would  be  nearer! 


IN  A  TENEMENT 
First  Floor 

"Little  square  with  cobwebbed  shadows, 

I  would  not  have  you  keep  so  aloof, 
I  have  a  gas-light  guttering  under  you, 
You  are  my  roof." 

Second  Floor 

"Little  square  with  cobwebbed  shadows, 

You  run  too  eagerly  to  the  door, 
I  have  a  table  and  chair  upon  you, 

You  are  my  floor." 


TWILIGHT  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

The  twilight's  shadow-vivid  drapery 

Is  rustling  through  the  skies  before  the  dawn; 

Her  wind-filled  folds  are  moist  with  cloud  and  sea, 
And  blow  against  the  stars  till  they  are  gone. 

The  twilight  hastens  on,  but  all  the  day 

Myriads  of  twilights  under  grey  waves  blow, 

While  white  dreams  floating  down  the  great  blue  way 
Are  touched  with  shadow  of  a  garment's  flow. 


12 


TO  J.  B. 

In  a  strange  land  where  lost  moonlight  wanders, 

And  star-pinned  rainbows  arch  the  temples  of  the  skies, 
Where  winds  ruffle  the  golden  feathers  of  sleeping  waters 

That  wake,  with  myriad  little  planets  in  their  eyes,  — 
In  a  strange  land,  through  whose  twilight  of  magic, 

Vanished,  colored  moons  once  mysteriously  stole, 
Where  star-dew  is  peopled  with  tiny  elf-gleams, 

And  every  little  shadow  has  a  trembling  soul, — 
In  that  strange  land  of  King  Marvel  and  Queen  Glamour, 

Where  the  Sphinx  whispers,  and  old  gods  are  new, 
In  that  strange  land  of  everlasting  wonder, 

Dear  friend,  we  keep  our  unseen  rendevous! 


HEARTS 

O  hearts  there  are  that  cry  at  night 
And  hearts  that  sing  by  day, 

But  hearts  that  cannot  cry  or  sing 
Must  dumbly  waste  away. 

O  hearts  that  cry  are  eased  in  storms, 
And  hearts  that  sing,  in  peace, 

But  silent  hearts  in  all  the  world 
Can  never  find  release ! 


THE  DOOR  OF  YOUTH 

The  door  of  youth  was  open, 
And  love  who  heard  no  din, 

Was  lured  by  the  very  silence 
And  entered  in. 

The  door  of  youth  was  open, 
And  grave-eyed  age  drew  nigh, 

Who  looked  in,  smiling  kindly, 
And  then  went  by. 


SONG 

The  wild  birds  sing  for  joy  of  spring 
But  unto  me  who  dream  and  long, 

Pain  is  a  stabbing  melody 
And  sadness  is  a  song. 

But  grief  is  patient  evermore, 

And  I  will  wait  till  that  far  day 

When  Happiness  will  come  to  me 
And  blow  my  songs  away! 


O  LITTLE  WAIF 

O  little  waif  from  fairyland, 

My  heart  can  never  be  your  home, 

For  you  belong  where  free  winds  kiss 
The  ocean's  white  lips  pursed  in  foam. 

O  little  waif  from  fairyland, 
I  have  no  comforting  for  you, 

Your  hope  is  in  some  magic  night 

Where  silver  moonbeams  kiss  the  dew. 

O  little,  crying,  homeless  waif, 
If  you  could  only  understand, 

My  heart  can  never  be  the  home 
You  could  not  find  in  fairyland! 


You  are  coming,  love, 

You  are  coming; 

A  flower  lifts  her  head  in  the  wind 

And  listens. 


THE  ANSWER 

When  I  ask  God 

The  why  of  my  little  sins, 

And  God  is  silent, 

I  know  the  answer. 

But  when  God  comes  to  me 
With  wistful  questions  in  the  dusk, 
With  wild  demands  in  the  wind, 
I,  too,  must  be  silent  .  .  . 


A  poet  said, 

"What  is  in  a  name?" 

But  I  had  a  beautiful  meaning 

And  I  forgot  to  name  it, 

And  now 

How  can  I  call  it 

Out  of  the  depth  ? 


16 


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